


The Spider's Return

by crutchie_394



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Canon Disabled Character, Captivity, Crutchie probably will too after the hell I'm putting him through, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Just you wait - Freeform, Kidnapping, Post-Canon, Prison, Protectiveness, Violence, im just too lazy to type them all out, more tags to be added later, most of the newsies are mentioned, my boi Race has some ptsd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 08:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14016264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crutchie_394/pseuds/crutchie_394
Summary: When the headline goes up in the morning, none of the boys expect to be reading about the release of everyone's favorite prison warden. But what if Snyder takes more than just their relief at being free from the worry of being tossed to the rats?What if one of their brothers loses his freedom altogether?





	1. The Headline's Up

**Author's Note:**

> Agh, I'm sorry this is so short, but I just needed to introduce the story (and also the POV needs to change after the end sentence so i may or may not have had to cut it off because of that but you have No Proof).

As usual, Jack’s morning wake-up call was the muffled sound of his best friend shuffling around the rooftop, his crutch thumping and clanging against the metal ground.

“Y’know,” he muttered, sleep meddling with his speech. There was a sharp inhale at the word, and he grinned, continuing with his reprimand. “Most fellas that got stuck in the Refuge for a week would appreciate a couple extra minutes of sleep.”

“Guess I ain’t one of those fellas,” Crutchie said as Jack sat up groggily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “‘Sides, that was forever ago. Time to move on.”

“If ya count two weeks as forever,” Jack said, pushing himself to his knees. No point in trying to get back to sleep now. “Ya need to slow down in the mornin’, kid. How’s a fella supposed to get some beauty sleep with you clonkin’ your way around up here?”

“Yeah, ya look like ya need some beauty sleep,” Crutchie teased. Jack stuck out his tongue playfully, plucking his cap from where it was tucked behind his makeshift pillow — it was really just a bundle of old clothes with too many holes to deem wearable — and buttoning his vest over his suspenders.

The two dodged around each other, grabbing clothes and coins and exchanging mindless chatter as they moved. Crutchie was in the middle of a story about an old woman that had wanted to read the paper before buying it when the morning bell chimed in the distance, the loud ringing an annoying, familiar presence.

Jack stomped his feet on the roof to rouse the boys below them as Crutchie sat down on the edge, beside the ladder, kicking lazily against the tall building. “Finch! Jojo! Get up! Romeo, I see ya down there, get your lazy butt outta bed!”

Soon enough, even with the sun still low, just barely peeking out enough to be visible in the sky, Jack had slid down the ladder, waiting on the fire escape for Crutchie to follow after him. As soon as his friend was safely on the ground, Jack ducked through the window to the Lodging House, where his boys were dragging themselves out from under threadbare blankets and digging around for missing caps and shirts.

“C’mon, Buttons,” he called across the room, ruffling Race’s hair when he groaned and tried to press his face into his mattress. “Racer, Albo’s got your cigar. Romeo! Get outta bed, for Pete’s sake!”

“I ain’t the only one goin’ slow,” Romeo moaned, finally revealing his dark, tousled head of hair from one of the top bunks.

“And you ain’t helpin’ none, either.”

Once Finch shot a pebble at his slumbering figure with his slingshot, Buttons got up, alongside Race, who immediately took hot pursuit of the cigar residing between Albert’s lips. Jack herded the crowd out, and they raced to the selling gate, which Morris began fumbling with just as the last of the boys skidded to a halt.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Race cooed, wasting no time in pressing his hand to his heart. “Or is it really the ugliest apes in all of New York? I’m goin’ blind, Albo!”

“Jus’ looks like the Delancey brothers to me,” Albert said, smirking when Race grabbed his shoulder with his other hand, as if in a desperate attempt not to fall over.

“Don’t make them look no better!” Jack rolled his eyes, slapping Crutchie lightly on the back of the head at his quip, prompting Crutchie to half-heartedly sock him in the arm.

“Real creative, Higgins,” Morris said. Then, he turned, projecting her ever-present sneer on Jack. “You’re really gonna be likin’ the headline today, Kelly. Gonna be attracitn’ the attention of plenty of folks on the streets.”

“Sure hope so, Morris,” Jack shot back without a beat of hesitation. “Maybe through the crowd, I won’t be able to see your ugly mug no more.”

Even as his boys whooped and Morris swung the gate open, grumbling under his breath before scuttling back to join his brother at the distribution desk, the words still plagued the back of Jack’s mind, begging for his attention. What was so special about the headline? Was it just lousy? Boring? But why would —

“Sorry we’re late, fellas!” The nagging train of thought running through his head rolled to a stop as Davey’s voice rang out across the square and he bounded through the gate. Les was at his side, clinging to his hand and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Slow gettin’ ready, I suppose.”

“Ya say that every mornin’,” Romeo scoffed, propping his elbow on Henry’s shoulder. “The day Dave gets here before the sellin’ gates open is the day I become a millionaire!”

“Then I guess they’ll never be on time,” Race said.

“Alright, fellas, shut up for two seconds,” Jack said as Romeo swatted in Race’s direction. “The headline’s goin’ up.”

And going up it was. As the words were written in large, bold letters, reluctance and apprehension spread across a few faces. The kids that had trouble reading turned to the ones that could, asking if they had read it correctly. When they received sharp, terse nods, they went pale, eyes skimming over the board again and again, as if reading it one too many times would make Pulitzer pop out and shout “April Fools!” before putting up the real news — because this couldn’t be real, right?

Questions peppered Jack from all sides as his boys looked to their leader for guidance, to solve the mess, to fix the problem, and he wanted to answer them — really, he did. But all he could concentrate on was the printed words looming over him, as if mocking him, taunting him from where they stood high above him.

_Warden Snyder Released From Prison._


	2. Papes for the Newsies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun is up, the headline doesn't stink so much anymore, and Snyder is roaming the streets again, much to one newsie in particular's dismay. But he has to be brave and blow it off around his friends. Snyder can't do anything now, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cracks knuckles* We're in for it with this one, folks. We're getting to the good stuff. 
> 
> I'm sorry about the horrible summary. Hope this chapter does the plot justice. Enjoy!

Crutchie’s breath caught in his throat. _Warden Snyder Released From Prison. Warden Snyder Released From Prison. Warden Snyder —_

Crutchie shook his head. The words were still there, no matter how many times they ran through his head. He snapped himself out of his reverie to appraise the other boys — none of them looked too pleased with the news. Race was as pale as a sheet, his cigar in danger of falling from his mouth. Jojo’s hand was white-knuckled on Elmer’s shoulder, but Elmer was too busy fiddling with his sleeves to notice. Specs was going on five minutes with wiping his glasses on his shirt, and Davey was holding Les firmly to his side.

“Papes for the newsies! C’mon, boys. Snap out of it.”  
  
The boys jumped about a foot in the air at Wiesel’s booming voice. Dutifully, they scurried to form a line in front of the distribution desk, murmuring to each other and leaving the suspense of the headline hanging in the air.  
  
Crutchie went to join them, but stopped short. Jack was beside him, frozen in place. He was still staring at the headline, lips parted slightly like a gaping fish.

“Jack?” Crutchie said, putting a hand on his friend’s arm to get his attention.

Jack whirled around to face him, rearing back in alarm. He dropped his fist when his roaming, darting eyes met Crutchie’s still ones.

"How... why..." Jack muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He dropped his hand when Crutchie nudged him again, letting it hang limply at his side as he gazed around the square, as if the answers to his questions would appear amidst the boys. "How'd this happen?"

"I'll tell ya how." Albert pulled a paper free from the stack Morris had just shoved at his chest, squinting at the small print on the front page.  
  
“After reveiewin’ the charges that were filed under the name of the former prison warden of the Refuge, Mister Snyder,” he read, skimming with his eyes and prodding at the page to follow the lines. “The court is pleased to announce that all charges have been dropped, effective immediately.” Albert spat the words out like they tasted foul in his mouth and shoved the paper in his bag disgustedly.  
  
“It don’t say why?” Romeo said, urging him to continue from his spot in line.  
  
“Nah, says right here,” Specs said, joining the boys that had already exchanged their coins at the desk, eager to read the news for themselves. “Wasn’t found guilty, I guess.”

“Bullshit,” Jack said, running a hand through his hair and knocking his cap askew. “They’re just coverin’ up for some reason that don’t make no sense otherwise.”   
  
“I have to agree on that one, actually,” Davey admitted. “Snyder had a lot of connections before he was arrested. I’m sure he just found some of those people to cover for him so that his charges were dropped.”  
  
At that, Jack’s lips pursed together in a thin line, fingers tangling in his hair again. “Alright, fellas,” he announced, loud enough for his voice to echo around the square. Heads turned, and he climbed on top of a paper wagon, adjusting his cap. “So — the Spider’s been released from prison.”  
  
“Ya don’t say?” Race drawled sarcastically. Davey cuffed him on the head, glaring, and Race glared right back, but kept his mouth clamped shut.  
  
“So,” Jack continued, “I’m sendin’ you all out in pairs today. Sell together, and don’t go out alone until we can get more on what’s happenin’ with Snyder. Race, no more late night trips to Brooklyn. Romeo, cut back on the flirtin’ to make it home by curfew. And Finch, quit goin’ outside to pick up the marbles ya shoot out the window in the middle of the night.”  
  
There were a few groans, but, satisfied with the reluctant nods and murmurs of agreement, Jack hopped down from the wagon as the boys paired up, waving for their friends and clapping each other on the back. Blink and Mush headed off comparing headlines, Albert and Race disappeared to wreak havoc, and —

“Hey.” Jack pulled Crutchie to the side, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Do ya wanna hawk with me today?”   
  
“What about Davey?”

Jack smirked, waving in dismissal. “He’s got Les. They’ll sell a hundred papes before the mornin’ rush’s over.”  
  
Crutchie hesitated. If he was being honest with himself, selling with Jack sounded great. Just the thought of Snyder roaming the streets, itching to tear the crutch from under his arm and whack him over the head, was enough to make his heart pound. But he couldn’t admit that to Jack — he had too much on his plate as it was. So he slapped on a fake grin and elbowed Jack in the ribs.

“Nah,” he said. “I’ll go with Elmer or someone. Go show Dave how it’s done.”  
  
Jack squinted at him, and Crutchie had to force his smile not to strain under his appraising gaze. Damn Jack and his constant capability to read him like a book.  
  
Finally, though, Jack seemed to accept his casual demeanor, and slung an arm around Crutchie’s shoulders, shaking him a little. “Yeah,” he agreed. He shook his head sadly. “Poor kid’s still tryin’ to convince folks to read about the mayor gettin’ the flu.”  
  
Crutchie followed him back to the square, where Davey and Les were waiting, bags already filled with papers. “Well, we can’t have that no more,” he said. “I’ll see ya later, Kelly.”  
  
Jack tipped his hat in mock formality. “Ya better, kid.”  
  
And even through the teasing tone and as he met up with Elmer and hobbled out of the square, Crutchie couldn’t help but hear the sincerity behind the words. And that just made the lump in his throat grow twice in size.

“Crutch!” Elmer’s knuckles rapped on the side of his head, and Crutchie whirled around.   
  
“Yeah?” he said cheerfully, even if the enthusiasm brightening his tone felt forced. “What’s up?”  
  
“I said,” Elmer said slowly, “I’m goin’ to Jacobi’s to grab somethin’ to eat. C'mon, let's go. Jack said we gotta stay together."  
  
“Nah. Only got half my papes sold.”  
  
“Jus’ because you’re insistin’ on starvin’ don’t mean I got to!” Elmer whined, grabbing Crutchie’s collar and dragging him a few feet down the sidewalk.  
  
“Then don’t starve,” Crutchie said simply, ducking away from the hold. “I’ll be fine for a few minutes out here.”  
  
“Jack’s gonna kill me if he finds out,” Elmer warned him, shaking his head as he started walking backwards down the street. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t die.”  
  
Crutchie shrugged, grinning goofily. “I’ve made it this long.”  
  
Elmer smiled back, spinning around as he bumped shoulders with an irritated man that shot him a filthy glare. He called out again as he took off, something about hiding if Davey or Jack came by, and Crutchie rolled his eyes, pulling out another paper to flip through. He wandered down the sidewalk, steering clear of the bustling crowds.  
  
“Missin' girl from the Bronx!” he shouted — close enough to a cop finding a girl that had been reported missing last week, right? “Thought to be a case of kidnappin' for ransom! Read it here!”  
  
It was weird — funny, even — that those were the last words he got out before a rough hand seized his shirt from behind, another clamping down over his mouth before a yelp of alarm could escape. The hands, calloused and grimy, dragged him into the alley he had been making his way past, his newspaper fluttering to the ground, forgotten.

“Wha — hey! No, stop! Lemme go, bastard,” Crutchie said, hating that it sounded much more like a plea than a command. The dark figure above him kicked his crutch out from under his arm, shoving him down on the sharp gravel dug into his palms. As he watched the crutch raise above his head, in his panic, deprived of the calm state he needed, only one thing could leave his lips before it came crashing down over his head, succumbing him to a fitful sleep. 

"Jack!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I promise I love Crutchie Morris with all my heart I'm just not great at showing it I swear
> 
> I'm going to Flordia this week, so I won't have much time to write, but I'll get some done during the 2-hour plane ride, so the next chapter will be up in a little over a week or so. 
> 
> Reviews and kudos are very much appreciated and I love you all!


	3. Jack is a Dad Friend and Davey is a Mom Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hours past curfew, Davey is trying to be sensible, and Jack is going to seriously consider killing his friends if they don't waltz through the door in the next five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?? Me? Actually sticking to an updating plan for more than two chapters? I know, I was surprised too.
> 
> I'm giving Crutchie a break for the next chapter or two, he's in a for a wild ride so he's gonna need it. Enjoy, friends!

“Relax. I’m sure they’re fine,” Davey coaxed, trying in vain to coach Jack into taking his head out of his hands, much to Jack’s annoyance. 

“Ya don’t know that, Jacobs,” Jack said, on the verge of snapping. Tensions had been high all night, and they had only escalated when a head count had been done before bed, and Elmer and Crutchie had been declared missing.

“Maybe they headed over to Brooklyn or somethin',” Race suggested from where he was sprawled out on the couch, still seemingly unconcerned. He rolled his eyes. “Don’t ya remember when Crutchie got stuck in the place from a storm and Jack nearly had a heart attack when he didn’t show up?"

“Not with Elmer,” Jack said. “Crutchie’s fine over there after all that, but Elmer still won’t step foot over the bridge.” He paused, shifting his gaze to Race. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” 

Race shrugged, twirling his cigar in his ash-covered hands. “Shouldn’t Dave be home?”

“I’m stayin’ the night,” Davey said. “Thought you saw Les head upstairs.”

“Mama Davey worried about his kids?” Race teased, jutting out his bottom lip in a mock pout.

“Go to bed, Race,” Davey said, ignoring the jab — a common one amongst the boys. Race shrugged again in defeat, put a hand to his head in salute, and scrambled for the stairs, biting back a yawn as he went.

“Great. That’s still only eighteen in bed,” Jack said. His leg bounced impatiently, and he kept glancing at the door like he would miss Elmer and Crutchie coming in if he looked away for too long.

“Look, Jack —” Davey said, but he was cut off by the door creaking open before he could go on another spiel.

Jack snapped his head up, and his first reaction was overwhelming relief, but his second was the hope in his heart dropping to the floor as Elmer crept in, like a felon escaping a crime scene, alone — no Crutchie in his wake.

“Elmer?” Elmer spun around, eyes wide like he had just been caught in the act of murder. His defensive stance slackened as Jack rose to his feet, but his apprehension was still clear.

“Hey, Jack — Davey,” he said, nodding in rushed greeting as he started for the stairs again. Jack grabbed his shirt before he could go far and spun him around to stare him down, but Elmer just squirmed, saying nothing. Jack released a long, impending sigh, then grabbed his shoulders and steered him to the couch.

“Alright, kid,” Jack said, pushing Elmer down on the shabby cushions and standing in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest. Davey stood behind him loyally, ready to back him up. “Where’ve ya been? It’s hours after curfew — and where the hell is Crutchie?”

“Crutchie?” Elmer squeaked — a bad sign if Jack had ever seen one.

“Yes, Crutchie,” Jack said, maintaining a patient tone as he prayed for strength. “Blond hair, kinda short, walks with a crutch? Been workin’ with him for years? Ya sold with him today? Ring a bell?”

Elmer mumbled something under his breath.

“Louder, or you’re sleepin’ on the fire escape tonight.”

Elmer knew when to draw the line, and his head hung low as he examined his shoes. “I was out lookin’ for him, alright?”

Jack’s blood ran cold. He squatted down next to the couch, grabbing Elmer’s shoulder. Elmer looked up, and his guilty, resigned face met Jack’s frantic one.

“The hell are ya talkin’ about? Where’s Crutchie?”

“I dunno!” Elmer burst out. He grimaced, probably at his stupid choice of words. “I went to get somethin’ at Jacobi’s, and he was bein’ stubborn about stayin’, so I just left for ten minutes, and when I came back he just weren’t there! I spent the rest of the day tryin’ to find him, but he’s just… he’s just gone, alright?”

Jack felt a comforting hand on his back, but he didn’t even bother to shrug it off as Elmer's hurried explanation sank in. Gone. His little brother was gone, hurt or halfway dead by now if the streets of New York had anything to do with it. God, he was going to be sick.

His hand slid off Elmer’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go find him,” he declared, standing abruptly.

Now, anyone else would have easily seen the rage and panic in his eyes and jumped aside, making a clear path to the door. But Davey did not happen to be one of those people, as hands grabbed at Jack’s arms, pulling him back rather than ushering him forward.

“Jack,” Davey said sternly. “We can’t go after him tonight. It’s late, and you’ll only end up goin’ missin’ yourself. Just calm —”

“Just calm down?” Jack finished, whirling around. Frustration and anger clouded his vision, but he pushed it away so he could see Davey, who looked a little nervous now. “How do ya expect me to calm down, Dave?” He jabbed a finger at the window, where the moon was bright beyond the smudged glass. “My little brother’s missin’, dammit, and ya want me to calm down? How would ya feel if it was Les out there, huh? What if it was Les?”

“I know that Les would want me to stay safe just as much as I would want him to come home!” Davey said, shaking him like it would knock the sense back in his brain. He lowered his voice when Elmer shot them a concerned look from the couch, but still forged ahead. “Jack, you’re right. And we’re gonna go after him. But you don’t have great chances of findin’ him when it’s pitch black, and you’re not gonna help him when you’re layin’ in bed all beatin’ and bruised from gettin’ jumped in the middle of the night.”

Jack nodded slowly. Davey was right — as always. Satisfied, Davey clapped his shoulder and pushed him towards the stairs. “Get to bed,” he said. “The sooner the better, right? And try to sleep. It’ll help in the mornin’. Promise.”

But, laying on the roof, facing Crutchie’s empty side of the roof and feeling the cold sense of dread that came without the presence of his best friend, Jack didn’t sleep a wink, his thoughts keeping him staring up at the sky.

The morning bell nearly had him jumping out of his skin in alarm, the loud chiming cutting into the dead silence of the early morning. He staggered to his feet, tugging on his vest and suspenders as quickly as he could, not wanting to spend any more time than necessary staring at the vacated pillow on the other side of the roof. He clambered down the fire escape and through the window, surprised to see that most of his boys were already up.

He was confused — as far as he knew, they had never willingly gotten out of bed without him there to holler at them — until he made eye contact with Davey across the room, who was in the midst of an attempt to rouse a sleeping Mush.

“I had a hunch you might need a break today,” he said over the din of the boys. Jack thanked him silently with a small smile, and Davey just nodded, motioning to the door and holding up a finger that told Jack to wait outside.

Sure enough, a few minutes later found Davey and Jack walking together to the distribution center, the rest of the boys far ahead of them.

“Here’s what I was thinkin’,” Davey began, drumming his fingers against his thigh nervously. “We should talk to Katherine.”

Jack just raised his eyebrows.

“Well, just think about it!” Davey said. “Katherine has access to a lot of connections — uh, well, good connections. Not like Snyder. If she can find someone that can track Snyder down, see where he ran off to, I’m sure that’ll help us find Crutchie. I mean, he goes missin’ the day after that kind of a headline? Snyder has got to have somethin’ to do with it, right?”

“I hear ya.” Jack sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “I’ll talk to Ace. She’ll kill me if I don’t tell her that the kid’s missin’, anyway. Askin’ for her help might be the best way to do it. Did ya tell the boys already?”

“Uh — yeah. Sorry. They probably would’ve figured it out without us tellin’ them, so I just did it this mornin’ to get it outta the way.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” Jack said. “Thanks for dealin’ with it. I’m gonna head over to Ace’s now, alright? You’re in charge.”

Davey nodded. “Good luck.”

"If I'm goin' to see Katherine with news like this, I'm gonna need it.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this seems a little dramatic of a chapter, but let’s not forget we are talking about the boy that performed a full musical number on a rooftop when his best friend went missing.
> 
> As always, feedback is very much appreciated! The next chapter should be up in week (?). Thanks for reading!


	4. Katherine Does More in an Hour Than These Idiots Did in a Full Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally get around to telling Katherine that Crutchie is missing, and, logically, she takes it upon herself to take over, because his poor friends have no clue what they're doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack is still angsty, Katherine is still badass, I still have a terrible uploading schedule alright let's do this

Katherine smoothed out the wrinkles in her long, swishing skirt, trying to seem more professional. At first, when Jack had come to her pleading to help him find Crutchie, she had had half a mind to be irritated with him for waiting until the day after it happened to ask. But after hearing him explain and watching him nearly wear a hole in the carpet with his pacing, she had softened, taken his hand, and given her word she would do everything she could to get his best friend back.

So here she was. Standing in front of the local police department, mentally reviewing what Jack had told her. Reporting the kidnapping — or, well, that’s what they assumed it was — was just her first stop, and she could go from what the cops suggested.   
  
She took a deep breath, composed herself, and entered the building with her head held high, notebook in hand. She strode up to the front desk, where a man in uniform was sitting and scribbling something down on paper, ignoring the bangs as the door opened and closed.  
  
“Excuse me,” she said, clearing her throat. The man finally spared her a glance, revealing a bushy mustache and mousy features.  
  
“Can I help you, ma’am?”  
  
“I’m here to report a missing person case,” she said, slapping her notebook down on the desk and flipping to the page scrawled with notes. “A young boy disappeared around noon yesterday.”

“Alright, ma’am,” the man said, picking up the notebook and squinting at the words. Katherine felt her face flush a little as he attempted to analyze her messy handwriting. “Can you tell us about the boy?”

That part was easy. Jack had given her more information on Crutchie before she left than she thought Jack knew about himself. "His name is Charlie Morris, but all his friends call him Crutchie. He's fourteen, and he walks with a crutch from untreated polio when he was younger."

The man furrowed his brow, making no move to write down a single word of what she had said, much to her displeasure. "Untreated polio? Where are this boy's parents?"  
  
“He works as a newsboy,” Katherine elaborated. “Abandoned by his parents when he was seven. His best friend, Jack Kelly, found him. I’m Jack’s girlfriend, Katherine Puli — Plumber.” 

The man sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose like he was the one in a stressful situation and setting down his pencil, clasping his hands together and leaning over the desk as if explaining something to a child. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s not much to go on if the boy doesn’t have any connections. And if no one is looking for him, there’s no need to send anyone out —”  
  
“If no one is looking for him?” Katherine mimicked, hands planting themselves on her hips. “All the newsboys in Manhattan are looking for him.”  
  
“Ma’am, he’s a paperboy without a mother or father to look after him. There are no leads to —” 

“There are leads, sir,” Katherine cut in forcefully. She snatched her notebook from the desk and flipped to the next page, jabbing her finger at the notes. She was normally more even-tempered, but the man was painfully frustrating, so she figured she had the right to be annoyed. “Mr. Snyder, the warden of the old Refuge that shut down at the end of the newsboys’ strike, was released from prison two days ago. That was yesterday’s headline. He held a grudge against Jack, sir, and Crutchie was in the Refuge just before Mr. Snyder was arrested. We believe he has something to do with Crutchie’s disappearance, and if you could just —”

"Miss Plumber, please, control yourself." She huffed irritably. She had just been relaying the facts, after all. "Once the inmate is released, it's not in our obligations to monitor their whereabouts."  
  
“So what do you suggest we do, then?” Katherine said, deadly calm.

The man sighed. “I suppose you just wait for him to come home, ma’am. Children on the streets go missing all the time, and there’s no guarantee something happened to the boy.”  


And so, Katherine found herself storming out of the police station with her notebook curled in one first, tempted to stick a middle finger in the air. She put a hand on her chest and took a deep breath. This wasn’t getting her anywhere. She adjusted her necktie, brushed her bangs off her face, and set off again. Her next visit would be, arguably, tougher than talking to the police all on its own.   
  
“That bastard said what?” Jack said. His voice was tight with anger, not unlike what Katherine had expected.  
  
“Apparently, children that go missing that don’t belong to wealthy families aren’t worth their time,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She was reading between the lines of what the man had said, sure, but she was sure she wasn’t far off from the truth.  
  
“We shoulda known they wouldn’t do nothin’,” Jack muttered. His eyes were trained on the floor, and Katherine wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or her, or if he even realized she was still there. “They was the ones that slapped Romeo across the face durin’ the strike, and was tryin’ to drag ‘em all off to the Refuge with Crutchie.” He whirled around to face her, pleading silently, and she felt her heart twang with sympathy at the lost look on his face. “What’re we doin’ next, Ace?”

Katherine sighed, looking down at the notebook now laying uselessly in her hands. “I don’t know,” she admitted, however much it pained her to say it. “I really don’t know, Jack. But we’ll find him,” she added, determined not to let spirits sink even further. “I’ll go to my editor, or maybe we can get Bill and Darcy involved again. What did Davey suggest during the strike? Spreading the word to other parts of the city?”  
  
She could see Jack turning over the rapidly-fired ideas in his head. He nodded, sliding his cap off to rake a hand through his hair. “I’ll send a couple of my boys over to see Conlon in Brooklyn tomorrow.” He lost the frown that seemed to be permanently etched into his face for just a second and offered a half-hearted smirk, moving closer to plant a light kiss on her cheek. “Thank ya, Ace. I really owe ya one.”  
  
Katherine shook her head, kissing him quickly on the lips and offering a sad smile of her own. “Just find him so you can ditch those puppy eyes, will you? They aren’t your best look.”  
  
Jack pouted, sticking out his bottom lip. “Everything’s my best look, Ace.” Katherine laughed softly, rubbing his shoulder. The thick, tense mood was still hanging in the air, but it seemed to have deflated just enough to make Jack grin, which was all she had really wanted — besides to bring Crutchie home, but that would clearly have to wait. For now, she was content with the small glimmer of hope that had fought its way back to shining in Jack’s eyes.  
  
“You better keep dreaming, Mister Kelly.”  
  
Katherine clung to that moment of peace, no matter how brief it had been. She certainly needed a happy memory to mull over for the next couple of days. Her editor and publisher had turned their heads about a random missing kid just as the police had. Darcy and Bill had been more than willing to help in any way they could, but those ways did not, unfortunately, include printing a snippet in the paper about the disappearance. Their fathers were just as stubborn as hers about what they printed.  
  
Less than a day after she had tried her hand at asking the cops for help, she was sitting in the Lodging House with Jack and Davey. After much protest, Les had finally passed out, and was curled up with Elmer upstairs. Race and Specs were joining them in what Race had dubbed their “Crutchie is an idiot that got himself kidnapped” meeting, having both volunteered to meet with Brooklyn earlier after getting a no-go with the official authorities. The King of Brooklyn was the next best thing, right?

“So how’d it go?” Jack said, leaning forward and propping his elbows up on knees as if waiting to hear an entrancing tale. Race shrugged unhelpfully, fiddling with the cigar in his lap. 

"Spot said he'd keep an eye out, but that there ain't much Brooklyn can do. And no one over there’s seen him since the end of the strike.”

“What about Bill an’ Darcy? The Sun? They doin’ somethin’ to help?” Jack demanded at Specs’ nod of confirmation. Katherine sighed and twirled the pencil in her hand.   
  
“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news…” she began, cueing Jack to slump over as his face fell. “Don’t give me that, Jack. You know Bill and Darcy are doing everything they can. It’s just…”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Jack grumbled. “We’re at the bottom of the food chain and all ‘em big guys are at the top.”  
  
There was an awkward silence as the words sunk in. Jack was right, as begrudging as Katherine was to admit it. They needed someone with power — even during the strike, they had managed to make the front page with the help of the New York Sun, and they had weaseled their way into using a printing press. But it was clear neither of those things were much of an option anymore.  
  
Eventually, Specs and Race stumbled off to bed. Davey was rubbing his eyes and yawning until Jack told him to shut up and get some sleep. He easily obliged, and Jack and Katherine were left together in the common room.  
  
“You should get home,” Jack said as they watched Davey creep up to the bunk room. “Your father’s gonna have my head for more than one reason if ya don’t show up tonight.”  
  
Katherine just settled herself in further, resting her head on Jack’s shoulder. “I know someone else that needs to get home in one piece.”  
  
She heard Jack sigh into her hair. “We’ll make that happen. He can hold his own pretty damn well, ain't afraid to fight dirty — least until we can find where he headed off to.”  
  
She wasn’t sure whether the words were meant to be reassuring for her or him, but they were comforting either way. These boys were her family, and if Crutchie didn’t get his butt home with more than a couple faded bruises, she was going to kill him for not staying safe, and then she was going after whoever was at fault for this whole mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not saying the newsies aren’t gay okay, Jack is bi as hell but for now he’s with Katherine


	5. You Left Me in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Crutchie wakes up surrounded in the dark, listening to rats scuttle across the floor instead of his friends' drowsy snores, a sense of uneasy dread fills him and threatens to burst from the inside out, the feeling far too familiar from the cold nights at the Refuge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crutchie’s back!! I love him but I’m gonna hurt him anyway.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Use of ableist slurs by the Delanceys and Snyder. So sorry if I offend you!!

The first thing Crutchie noticed was the pained flare in his bad leg that introduced him to the white-hot, blinding aches that came with it, snapping his eyes shut again just as they fluttered open. It was so much worse than usual. What had he done to strain it so much? On top of all that, there was no way he would be able to hide it from Jack all day. He would have to —

His thoughts cut off as he forced his eyes open again, quickly blinking away the tears that shoved themselves forward. It only took a few seconds for him to realize that he wasn’t in the Lodging House, nor was he on the roof. There was no cool breeze ruffling his clothes and nipping his cheeks, and there were no whining moans of the boys waking up or snores from the heavy sleepers. In fact, all he could see was a damp room. He squinted at the moldy, crusted walls that were cracked at the beams, and the only sound he could hear came from the hisses that drawled from his throat when he bent his leg and the scampering of what was probably a rat in the corner.   
  
He let out a shaky breath as he pieced together his memories of what had happened before it had all gone dark. Selling with Elmer. A hand nearly twice the size of his clamping down on his shouts and dragging him behind a building. His crutch pulled from his hold. A figure hovering above him, menacing in all the worst ways.

Crutchie jumped about a foot in the air as a creaking door broke the eerie silence, triggering his pounding head where the crutch must have knocked him out. He reached up to feel his forehead, but he was only met with the clink of metal and something digging into his wrists as he tried to force them out from behind his back. Handcuffs. Of course.  
  
“Hello?” he called. He didn’t even bother trying to adjust his position against the metal pole he was chained to, assuming whoever had dragged him to wherever he was hadn’t bothered to be gentle. “Hey, who’s there?”  
  
There was no answer, but a short, humorless chuckle was more than enough to send shivers up his spine. As was the padding of heavy footsteps. “Leave me alone. I-I ain’t got nothin’ ya want.”  
  
There was a long pause. Then, someone grabbed his hair, jerking his head back and making him yelp and tense violently in alarm. Even with his eyes adjusting, he couldn’t see two feet in front of him, and the person was obviously a lot closer than he had assumed.  
  
“Maybe ya don’t have what we want right now.” The hand in his hair clenched him tighter, pulling at the roots. “But this is how we’re gettin’ it. So why don’t ya shut your mouth already?” A foot kicked at his shoe. “Useless crip.”  
  
Those words made it click. “Delancey?” When there was no reply, just a few muttered words that he couldn’t hear, he said the first thing that came to mind, which, in hindsight, probably hadn’t been the best thing to do. “What? Didja get tired of pickin’ on us at the gates and decide to move it to your basement? Sorry, but that don’t sound like a great way to spend your time, Oscar.”

“Shut it.” Morris. It was just Crutchie’s luck he would be trapped with both brothers, and the foot aimed painfully at his stomach confirmed it. “It ain’t your place to be talkin’ back, kid.”  


“That’s enough, boys.” That wasn’t Morris or Oscar. This new voice was deep and low, almost like a growl. It was familiar, but not in the friendly, I-see-you-everyday-and-joke-around-with-you-and-we’re-friends type of way. It was the type of familiar that had him knowing in an instant that it was a voice he would prefer not to recognize. It left an unsettling pit in his stomach, and, as a figure stepped closer, his heart just sank even lower.

Snyder gripped Crutchie’s chin, forcing him to look at that damn sneer curling the man’s lips. “This is the kid alright. One that cost me the stint in jail.” He scowled, fisting Crutchie’s jaw tight enough to make him suck in a whimper. “You know, kid, Kelly might have let it all go. Would have forgotten about all the other kids in the Refuge, let me keep my fortune. But he jus’ had to take pity on you, didn’t he? Decided you were worth his time because of a gimp and a cute face.”  
  
“Jack ain’t jus’… he didn’t jus’ help me ‘cause of my leg,” Crutchie said. He was ready to defend his brother and himself. Snyder may have had him trembling in fear, but that wouldn’t take away his sheer defiance, as Davey would call it. “I ain’t jus’ my crutch. We’re best friends, we’re —”

Snyder cut him off, freeing his chin. Not to relieve him, it seemed. Quickly, the hand made contact with his face again, slapping him harshly across the cheek. “It doesn’t matter why,” he spat. “I couldn’t care less if he comes to impress a woman by rescuing a cripple. As long as he gets here.”

“What does this gotta do with Jack?” Crutchie said, shaking his head and shrinking back from the man, tugging on the handcuffs. “Ya wanted me, didn’t ya? I’m — I’m here.”  
  
“Ya really think we would waste time wit’ the likes of you just for the hell of it?” Morris jumped in, stepping forward and bending down so he was level with where Crutchie was pressed against the pole. “This’s just the beginnin’, ya lousy crip. Jus’ you wait.”

Crutchie made a rash decision. He was almost touching noses with Morris, and the bastard was gloating, implying a threat against his brother, which wasn’t okay. Jack fought for Crutchie all the time, and Crutchie was more than glad to return the favor. So, with that in mind, he barely regretted it as he kicked out with his good leg and nailed Morris in the jaw.

Morris flew back from the surprise of the blow. The hitch barely fazed him, much to Crutchie’s dismay. He scrambled to his feet not a second after, rubbing at the imprint on his face from the sole of the shoe and throwing Oscar off when he tried to help his brother up. He cracked his knuckles as Crutchie shook the sore twinge out of his own.

"Why, you little —" Morris was advancing. Crutchie ducked his head, hoping to ward off the incoming blows, only to risk a glance and see his attacker jerked back by the collar, keeping him at bay for the time being.   
  
“Drop it, Delancey,” Snyder ordered, his gaze flickering down to Crutchie’s huddled form, the red mark from the slap contrasting against his pale features. “You two had your fun when he was on his way in.” Oh. So that explained why his leg felt like it was being stabbed with a dozen knives at once. “The kid will get what he deserves.”

Morris begrudgingly obliged, spitting at Crutchie’s feet as he, Oscar, and Snyder strode away. There was a slit of dim light that filtered through a crack that Crutchie hadn’t noticed when they came in as they opened the door, and he relished in it before it slammed again, enveloping him in the dark and leaving him to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello let’s talk about Crutchie’s characterization. 
> 
> So Crutchie is a badass and we all know it. He’s optimistic and he’s great and I love him, but he can definitely hold his own in a fight, even though violence is never his first instinct.
> 
> That being said, though, let’s not forget that in this chapter Crutchie is trapped without any of his friends with Snyder and the Delanceys. The Delanceys are a big whoop sort of thing, yeah, sure, but Snyder is a man that scared Jack Kelly, leader of the Manhattan newsies, enough to leave his best friend behind to get taken to prison. So yeah, Crutchie is terrified. He’s alone without anyone to defend him, and he’s tough and keeping it together, but he’s allowed to be scared and trembling and crying. Thanks for coming to my ted talk about the miracle that is Crutchie Morris.
> 
> JUST TO BE CLEAR: I hate the slurs that Morris, Oscar, and Snyder used, but it was necessary for historical accuracy. I’m so sorry if I offended anyone.
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, as always.


	6. The Refuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race and Albert jump on the bandwagon to find Crutchie, and find themselves exploring the Refuge despite never wanting to set foot in it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe how random my updating schedule is this is getting ridiculous
> 
> I was minding my own business and then my brain went “Hey we haven’t seen our bois Albo and Race in a while we should see how they’re doin’” and I pulled this chapter up from the depths of my soul so enjoy friends

“I hope ya know Jack is gonna kill us. We’re spendin’ our last few moments on Earth in each other’s company.”

“Shush,” Race said, pressing a finger to Albert’s lips as they maneuvered down the sidewalk, lit only by the dim street lights. “Jackie can live without my delightful presence for a couple extra hours.”

Albert rolled his eyes, prying Race’s hand away from his face. “Yeah, duh, but he probably don’t like livin’ without those couple extra hours of sleep he’s spendin’ waitin’ for us.”

“Damn, whose side are you on, Albo?”

“My own side.”

“Shut up,” Race muttered, adjusting his cap. “We ain’t even that late.”  
  
Albert glanced up at the moon. “Nah,” he agreed sarcastically. “It’s only, what, three hours after curfew? Water under the bridge.”  
  
“I can think of somethin’ else that’s gonna get thrown under a bridge in a few minutes,” Race said, shooting him an annoyed look. “Besides, we’re doin’ this for Crutchie.”

“We don’t even know if he’s in there.”  
  
“Well, we know Snyder’s an ass and he ran the Refuge, a place for underage kids that he thought deserved some time in jail,” Race said, counting off his points on his fingers. “Katherine’s damn well convinced he’s got somethin’ to do with Crutch disappearin’, and I can’t say I blame her.”  
  
Albert shrugged and stuck his thumbs in his pockets as they turned another corner. “Still think we should do this with Jack or someone, but I’m goin’ by your call. Don’t blow my trust.”  
  
“Gee, thanks,” Race drawled. Their banter and jabs were a welcome presence, a distraction from the looming task ahead. There had been plenty of time to think on the trek over to Brooklyn with Specs and in bed after the meeting, and the more Race thought, the more it made sense that Snyder would bring their friend to the Refuge — an abandoned building that most folks stay away from was enough to spike his attention. Somehow, Race had roped Albert into coming with him, and here they were. He would never admit it, but going to the hellhole himself was a daunting thought that made him shudder and chew on his cigar just a little harder. Having his best friend there with him made the suppressed memories of his own stint in the place shove to the back of his mind, giving him the peace he needed.

Eventually, the jokes dwindled. When the tall building came into view, the comfortable silence turned awkward and tense. The Refuge did that — it left you expecting nothing but the worst to happen.

Their paces slowed in unison as they approached. Too soon for Race’s liking, they were standing in front of the doors, still as menacing as they had been two weeks before. They stared at them for a while. A stray cat yowled somewhere in the distance. A siren wailed.

“Let’s get this over with,” Albert finally said. Race jumped at the break of silence, but Albert graciously ignored it and started for the side of the building. Before he could get far, though, Race’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm.  
  
“Racer? Ya good?”

Race's cheeks burned as his desperate hold on Albert’s bicep loosened. “I… what if Crutchie’s in there with Snyder…”  
  
“That’s what we came for, ain’t it?”  
  
Race shook his head. “No, shut up. What if Snyder’s in there and he finds us sneakin’ around?” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “He’s gonna throw us in there, Albo. And no one’s gonna come lookin’ for us. They ain’t gonna know where to look and they’ll just give up after a while… I can’t go through that hell again…”

“Hey,” Albert said, turning fully and grabbing Race’s shoulders. Race tensed at the touch, but didn’t squirm away. “That ain’t gonna happen. Race, c’mon. I know how that place messed you up when you got tossed in there. But I swear that ain’t gonna happen again. Just breath, Racer. C’mon. Just breathe.”  
  
Race did as he was told, pressing a hand to his chest and the other to his head, raking it through his curls as he heaved for breath, throwing his hat to the ground. The Refuge was hovering above him, threatening to engulf him in its shadows —

_Race struggled and thrashed as he was all but thrown out of the police carriage, his chained hands scraping against the sharp gravel._

_Someone grabbed his collar, and he choked slightly as he was yanked harshly to his feet. An arm situated itself around his throat, another pushing on his back and shoving him forwards, towards the building that he had been told to avoid since Jack had dragged him over to the Manhattan lodge. It was the place that gave kids nightmares until they awoke screaming themselves hoarse. And the slam of the doors that filtered out the sunlight left him with a lurch of realization that told him he might not be coming out any time soon._

Albert cursed loudly, and Race wondered why until he looked down and realized his hands were shaking slightly. He shoved them in his pockets, but when Albert’s grip tightened on his shoulders, he dug them out again and reared back.

Albert dropped his arms to his sides. “Race, breathe. C’mon, man, in and out. I ain't gonna hurt ya, wouldn't dream of it. It's alright. We’re gonna scope out the place for Crutchie and head home like nothin’ happened. But if you ain’t up for it, we’ll head back now and tell Jack what we think. We’ll get Kath on his case. It’s alright.”

It was alright. Albert’s voice was familiar and comforting. Race hesitantly put his hands on Albert’s shoulders, and Albert pulled him into a hug when Race nodded. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said. “Nothin’s gonna happen. Let’s just go find Crutchie and get the hell outta here.”  
  
And, after a few more shaky breaths, they did just that. They didn’t talk about Race’s episode as they headed up the rusty fire escape with ease, both experienced from years of sneaking into the Lodging House after curfew. God knew that there had been much worse regarding the boys that had been to the Refuge. Nightmares. Panic. They moved past it as quickly as it had come.   
  
“Which room are we headin’ to first?” Race whispered, crouching low on the fire escape and peering in through the rickety bars on the window.

"Obviously this one,” Albert scoffed. He grabbed the bars and rattled them violently. It only took a minute or two — Race keeping watch for late passerby — before the bars snapped off the window, not unsurprisingly. The Refuge hadn’t exactly been the most well-made place on Earth before, and it had probably been ransacked too many times to count at this point.

Albert slid the window open. They wriggled through, careful to avoid the splinters in the wood. When Race landed with a gentle thump, wincing as it creaked, he wasted no time in surveying the room. He had only been in the Refuge for a week before Jack had smuggled him out, but it was exactly how he remembered it. The mattresses were still thin and moldy, there were still rat dropping scattering the floor, and there were still holes in the wall nobody had bothered to fix.

“Hey,” Albert whispered, making Race jump. “Ya sure ya wanna do this?” A firm nod was all he needed, and he clapped Race’s arm, smiling tightly.

With another once-over and seeing the room was vacated, (“Wasn’t expectin’ him to be right by the fire escape.”) they moved on, peeking into each room as they went down the stairs. Each one had the usual layer of grime, but not a clue that their friend had been there. They could have covered more ground by splitting up, but if Snyder was in the building, being alone was like digging their grave, so neither of them mentioned it.

“Race,” Albert called from the hallway as Race wandered through the dining hall. “What’s this?”  
  
Race went to join him, and felt his breath catch in his throat. Albert was staring at a wooden door, different from the rest. Sure, it was dusty, but it was shinier than the doors that led to the bunk rooms, and the handle didn’t have the rust and chipped paint that the others did.

_“Bring the boy to my office,” Snyder spat. “It’s about time the kid learned a lesson.”_  
  
_Hands clamped down on Race’s arms, prying him off the floor. He cried out in pain as the grip tightened around his wrist. The black spots clouding his vision drew closer together, threatening to submerge him in complete darkness, but a harsh slap across the face forced him to blink himself back into consciousness._

_There was a sudden jerk, and he was able to make out the rest of the kids sitting in their bunks watching, impassively and fearfully, as Snyder strode out of the room with the guards dragging Race after him, their hands the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the ground.  
_

“Race? Race, you’re all pale, are ya good? Racetrack!”

"Spider's office,” Race muttered, cutting off Albert’s attempts to get him out of his head and grabbing his friend’s collar to usher him away. “We can come back here if we don’t find him in the basement.”

The basement was empty. Race wasn’t positive if that was a bad thing or a good thing. He had wanted there to be something to come out of the trip, but the basement was the place that made kids sob as they were hauled from the bunk rooms. Snyder hadn’t had a chance to lock him down there in his short visit, but he had overheard enough horror stories from Jack to know it wasn’t a place you wanted to be. At least Crutchie wasn’t suffering through it.

“Well, I guess we can still check Snyder’s office,” Race sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. It was sticking up on end from how often he had raked through it.   
  
“Why would the Spider put a kid in there?” Albert said.  
  
Race shrugged, waving to follow him back to the stairs, eager to get out of the stark, damp cellar that made their words echo and ring back in their ears. “Heard from Jack that he’s got a closet or somethin’ in there? Can’t hurt to check.”  
  
They went back up the stairs in silence. When they were in front of Snyder’s old office again, the pause in front of the door was infinite. With a final glance at each other, though, Albert shoved it open anyway.   
  
Snyder’s desk was bare. The cane that was usually leaning against the wall was missing. There was no sign that anyone had been there for weeks at first glance.   
  
Race went over to the closet, and his eyes widened hopefully as he jiggled the handle. It was locked.   
  
“Crutchie?” he called, rapping sharply on the door. “Are ya in there? Crutchie? Al, do ya have somethin’ to —”  
  
A pin flew at him and nailed him in the forehead. Race glowered at Albert as he rubbed the spot and scooped it off the floor, who just smirked and went back to rifling through the drawers of the desk.   
  
The lock wasn’t impossible to pick. Race was convinced every newsie in Manhattan knew, to some extent, how to pick a lock, and he was no exception. The satisfying click was enough to make his stomach jump excitedly, and he tossed the pin to the side as he turned the handle and threw it open.   
  
“Empty?”   
  
“Yeah.” It was disappointing, but he didn’t know why he had been expecting otherwise.

“Alright, let’s get outta here,” Albert said as Race handed him the pin. “No use dwelllin’ on the place if there’s nothin’ to take from it.”

“Since when didja start gettin’ all preachy on me?”  
  
“Shut up. I ain’t spendin’ my last moments on Earth before we face Jack and Davey arguin’.”  
  
“Except you’re gonna start arguin’ with me about how dumb this was as soon as we leave.”  
  
“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter can basically be summed up to “I had to find a way to explain how Crutchie isn’t at the Refuge and your resident author enjoys writing platonic bromance” and 2k words of angst is how I decided to go about doing it.
> 
> I was researching how to cut a metal bar at like one am and then I just went “fuck it” and went the easy route sorry for being lazy with my accuracy
> 
> I live and breath for feedback and comments and kudos and all that jazz! Thanks for reading!


	7. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crutchie is starting to feel a pattern with waking up to Snyder or the Delanceys staring him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me!! Being productive!! Very sorry this has taken so long, I had major writer's block.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Use of ableist slurs by the Delanceys and Snyder. So sorry if I offend anyone.

_ “No, please!” Crutchie sobbed as the guard, built heavily without an ounce of sympathy, dragged him down the corridor. He couldn’t do it again. The Refuge had been bad enough during the strike, and he had thought it was over for good. But here he was, back in front of the door to the grimy bunk room with a fierce pain in his leg and an aching chest that had to have been the victim of at least a few cracked ribs from one too many hits with his crutch.  _

_ “Shut it,” the guard barked. He shoved the door open and tossed Crutchie inside, slamming it without another word. _

_ Crutchie groaned and let out a pained whine as his arms shot down to clutch at his leg, burning like fire spreading on his skin. He brought his hands away and grimaced at the blood coating his palms, tearing his eyes away to distract himself by looking around the room. _

_ It was empty, but it was obvious it had once been full. Dark, suspicious patches of red stained the walls, fresh rat droppings scattered the floor, and there was a ripped box of playing cards on one of the vacant beds. _

_ Then, his eyes landed on a huddled figure, curled in on itself on a molded mattress, closest to the wall, a grey cap half-hidden under the cracked bed frame.  _

_ “Hello?” Crutchie said. Dragging himself to his knees and biting back another moan as his bad knee scraped against the floor, he crawled over to the figure. It took the amount of time it might have taken him to sell half his papers, but eventually, he was clinging to the bed and pulling himself up to take a better look at the figure, grabbing the person’s shoulder to flip them on their back.  _

_ Jack’s sunken, hard eyes bore into his. They were out of focus and empty, and Crutchie snatched his hand away as he realized just how cold Jack’s shoulder was. _

_ “Jack?” he said urgently. Forgetting his own pain, he put all his weight on his knees to grab Jack’s shirt and shake him violently. “Jack? Jack, wake up! Jack, please, this ain’t funny, ya gotta wake up!” _

_ This had to be to be a joke. This couldn’t be real, because Jack’s chest was laying still and cold, and he wasn’t moving, and Crutchie felt like he was going to throw up. But Jack would never scare him like this, right? Maybe it was Race’s idea. Or Albert’s. “Jack, please! Wake up! JACK!” _

A harsh slap to the face had Crutchie gasping and jolting awake. 

“Rise and shine, gimp,” Oscar said.

“What for?” Crutchie muttered. His chest still felt heavy, and sweat trickled from his brow. He shuddered, wishing he was at the Lodging House, where there was always a hug waiting for him after a nightmare. “Gotta tell me how useless I am again?”

“Keep talkin’ and I’ll do more than that,” Oscar threatened. It was half-hearted, but Crutchie shut his trap when the sliver of light from the small window above his head proudly displayed the brass glinting off Oscar’s knuckles. 

“That’s enough, Delancey.” Crutchie tensed as Snyder stepped out of the shadows, as if an ominous villain in a moving picture. “If you two can’t keep yourselves from beating on the kid, I’ll do this myself.”

Crutchie followed the man with his eyes as he paced across the floor. “Do… do what yourself?”

Snyder turned slowly to face him. “Well, I guess I don’t need to do much,” he said vaguely. “He’ll come to me on his own.”

“Who?” Crutchie demanded. Oscar looked like he was suppressing the urge to drive a foot in his gut. “Who are ya talkin’ about?”

“Who do you think?” Snyder said, bending down to meet his eyes. If he wasn’t certain it would get him killed, Crutchie would have spat in his face. “He’ll come to us on his own. As long as he cares about you as much as you claim, of course.” He shrugged, rising to his full height. “We might need to find him ourselves, Delancey. Gimp is a waste of space, there’s no proof anyone’s really comin’ after him.”

“Jack?”

“We sure hope so,” Snyder said. “We’ve only got one bullet.”

“And as much as we’d love to take out the rest of the rats ya call friends,” Oscar added, “it’s Kelly we’re goin’ for.”

As Snyder glared warningly at Oscar, a clear “shut up and let me do the talking”, Crutchie could feel his stomach drop uncomfortably. He had a good feeling of what they were talking about, but that didn’t mean he had to accept it. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” he said, hating that it came out desperate and pleading, a noticeable tremble coloring his words. “What do ya want with Jack?”

“You really think we would’ve gotten away with takin’ the strike leader?” Oscar said, staring down at him in obvious disgust. “Nah, we took the crip that no one’s gonna miss. Kelly’ll come after ya outta pity, and when he does —”

“—when he does,” Snyder interrupted. He shoved Oscar to the side to hover over Crutchie, reaching a hand in his coat pocket. He drew it out, and Crutchie scrambled back, hitting his head against the metal pole as Snyder fingered the pistol, tossing it between his hands as if it was nothing. “We take care of him for good.”

“No!” Crutchie probably should have been acutely aware that he was shouting at a man holding a gun and a boy that towered a head above him when they were both standing, not to mention he was chained to the floor. But none of that was important, because his brother was in serious danger, and it was all his fault. “No! Shoot me. Kill me. They’ll” — he swallowed hard — “the boys, they’ll forget about me eventually, but not Jack. Ya can’t, I’ll stop ya. I won’t let ya.”

“What do you plan on doing about it?” Snyder said. Crutchie opened his mouth, closed it again, then settled on a glare, which couldn’t have been too threatening through the bruises that twinged and ached when he moved his jaw even a fraction of an inch. “That’s what I thought. Delancey, go join your brother at the selling gate.”

Crutchie could feel the flare of panic that filled his chest. “Now?! No! I ain’t seen him — he ain’t gonna know if I’m okay before…”   
  
Another well-aimed kick cut him off. As he coughed, his stomach desperately trying to throw up food that wasn’t there, Oscar said, “You’re here for one reason and one reason only, kid. To bring Kelly to us. We wouldn’t be wastin’ our time with you if we could just grab him outta the distribution square.”

Snyder cuffed him around the head, hard, and Oscar retreated with his tail tucked between his legs. Snyder watched him go until the door slammed, then went back to tracing the hole of the pistol. 

“Ya should just kill me,” Crutchie said angrily. 

Snyder looked at him. “Where’s the fun in that?”  
  
“Killin’ me’s gonna hurt Jack just as much.” Crutchie forced the words out. It was true, sure, but he couldn’t stand to think about Jack’s face if Snyder put a bullet through him right then and there. It was the right thing to say, though. Jack could move on. 

Snyder shook his head, though, and Crutchie couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. “Nice try, kid. It’s your pal Jackie we’re going for.” And Snyder slithered off, encasing Crutchie in the darkness once again and leaving him wishing, just a little, that Snyder had taken another turn with the gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW THAT TOOK A DARK TURN
> 
> So there it is, Snyder's plan. Hope this makes up for my procrastination on this fic. Enjoy, babes! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated.


	8. Out on the Fire Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert and Race are back, Race has more energy than he should for a guy running on two hours of sleep, and Jack just needs a bottle of aspirin and a month of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY BACK WITH ANOTHER CHAPTER!! This was torture to write because of all the transition scenes, but I hope all you lovelies enjoy it anyway!!

Jack worked through his morning routine absentmindedly, as if on autopilot. He stomped his feet on the roof, coaxed heavy sleepers out of bed, and tossed leftover bread to the kids that would skip lunch. There was little protest about getting up at the crack of dawn that day — an impressive feat for what he knew as the most stubborn group of teenage boys in the city. They all seemed to feel the despondent mood hanging in the air, though, and he caught more than a few of them casting long looks at the glaring vacancy of Crutchie’s bed — nobody had had the heart to give it up to another kid yet.

Mrs. Jacobs had finally dragged Davey back to sleep at his apartment for the night, so he met them at the selling gate with dark circles under his eyes. Les’ eyes were red and raw with uninvited tears.

“Any updates on Crutchie?” Davey said, reluctantly letting Les run off to snoop in on Finch and Romeo’s whispered conversation.

“No.” Jack sighed and raked a hand through his hair, glancing at the two boys by the wall that were practically falling asleep on each other’s shoulders. “Al and Race didn’t come back until half-past three, though.”

That was enough to get Davey to tear his gaze away from Les and whip his head around, his face suddenly flooded with alarm. “What?” His eyes darted worriedly to Albert and Race, who had given up on staying upright and was sprawled out on the ground, leaning against Albert’s legs and snoring softly. “What happened?”

Jack rolled his eyes. Albert and Race hadn’t been the only ones up all night. He’d been pacing and twisting his hat in his hands for hours, unwanted flashes of Race’s hair matted with blood or Albert curled up on the streets running through his head. He was still shuddering at the thought, and he still wasn’t entirely past murdering them both for panicking him. “They was scopin’ out the Refuge for Crutchie.”

Davey slapped him upside the head. “Then tell me that! Did they find anything?”

“No! No, they didn’t find nothin’.” Jack rubbed his head, but he was sure his glare didn’t have the malice he wanted. “It was for nothin’. Completely deserted.”

“Well, did they make it back okay?”

“Take a damn guess! They’re fine!”

“How am I supposed to know?” Davey said, throwing his arm out in Albert and Race’s direction. “For all I know, they’re falling asleep because they got jumped and they’re covered in bruises under their shirts!”

Jack balled his hands into fists and drew his mouth into a thin line, willing himself to calm down. He was on edge as it was, and getting into a shouting match with his best friend wasn’t going to snap him out of it. “Okay. Fine. Chill out, Dave, it’s fine. Whatever.”

Davey sighed, tense shoulders slumping. “Nah, I’m sorry. It’s just… ya know, it was a rough night. Les was sobbin’ until midnight about Crutchie. You know, since they’ve gotten a lot closer since the strike and all.”

“Yeah. Kid was heartbroken first time we sent him upstairs durin’ one of our meetin’s about all this.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Jack fiddled with a cigarette and Davey tapped his foot against the pavement, anxiously waiting for the headline. Jack couldn’t blame him. Usually, a headline like _Unidentified Boy Found Dead in Manhattan_ would be nothing short of a miracle, but now it just made his stomach churn, threatening to make him hack up the measly breakfast the nuns had dished out.

“Jack!”

Race grabbed Jack’s shoulders urgently as he bounded up, his paper bag swinging at his side. Jack jumped violently, swinging out, but he relaxed as soon as he met Race’s huge blue eyes, almost bugging out of his head.

“Slow down.” Jack brushed Race’s hands away. Where had all his energy suddenly come from? Sometimes he swore he would bet all his money that the kid was just a giant puppy. Not to mention that he definitely wasn’t in the mood for all this. “What’s wrong?”

Race grabbed his arm and spun him around. Jack cocked an eyebrow tiredly. He was staring at the Delanceys, urgently murmuring to each other behind the distribution desk. “Not the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, but you get used to the apes eventually.”

“No, ya doof!” Race said. “Me and Al overheard what they was sayin’.”

“What’s your point? I already knew ya listen through walls.”

Race rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, his signature smug grin quirking up the edge of his lips. “Alright, then. If ya don’t wanna know where Crutchie went off to, I’ll just head off to Brooklyn. See ya tonight, Jackie.”

Jack shot forward and grabbed him before he could spin on his heel and walk away. Dragging him back, he fisted the front of his shirt and held him in an iron grip. “What’d they say?”

Race wrinkled his nose and waved a hand in his face. “Anyone ever tell ya that ya need to brush your teeth more?”

Jack had never purposely hurt one of his kids, but if he said he wasn’t seriously considering beating Race into the ground, he’d be lying. He settled for rattling him dangerously, pulling him ever closer. Race squeaked, his toes dangling just above the ground. “Tell me where the hell he is, kid, or ya won’t be able to from gettin’ a few teeth knocked loose.”

Race raised his hands in surrender, shying back from the fire that Jack could practically feel lighting up in his eyes. “Delanceys’ house! Said somethin’ about their house where they live with Weasel! Don’t hurt me, geez!”

Jack shook his head, dropping him and steadying him as he stumbled. “Okay, Racer. Sorry to freak out on ya. Ya know where the place is?”

Race nodded. “Morris said somethin’ to Oscar about him takin’ too long, and then Oscar said somethin’ about a ten-minute walk over to the gates, and then Morris said he was gonna head over there.”

Even as he, Race, and Davey sprinted down the street, Jack felt like he could breathe easier than he had in days. They followed Morris as he walked at a pace far too leisurely for Jack’s patience, ducking in alleyways when he turned a corner or glanced to the side.

Weasel’s “house” was really just a cheap, run-down apartment building. Jack could spot at least two cracked windows, and even just the outside smelt of stale cigarettes and body sweat. It reminded him too much of the Refuge itself.

Morris slipped in through the doors, but Jack already had his eyes trained on the fire escape on the side of the building. He was dragging Davey and Race over to help him lower the ladder before the doors even had time to slam.

Jack’s skillfully gripped the bars of the escape, the cold metal familiar under his hands from years of climbing up to the roof to escape from the bright lights, the shouts, the everything. As he watched Race pull Davey up the first few rungs, he found himself missing those long nights. His legs would dangle over the ledge and Crutchie’s head would rest on his shoulder, his warm eyes following Jack’s pencil as it moved across the paper.

He wanted it all back. The peaceful evenings, when the roll of carriages and distant blaring sirens would drown out the shouts from the Lodging House, and the sky would turn from blue to pink to black. But the only way he would ever feel Crutchie leaning against him, rambling about his selling day, the only way Jack would ever be able to ruffle his hair and laugh with him, was to climb the rusty fire escape to Morris Delancey’s apartment.

What a life he was living.

They checked all the windows, but it didn’t take long before Race was shouting for Jack and Davey just a floor above them. They went up the ladder, and Jack all but shoved Race aside to jump in front of the window, crouching low to see inside.

It was one of the bigger —  or at least nicer — apartments. He could gather that much, even if it was no Pulitzer residence. Morris was rooting around in a drawer. He came up with something small, stuffing it in his pocket. He took a wary, eerie glance around the apartment before he was out the door.

Jack fiddled with the locked window. “Stand back, guys.” Davey grabbed Race’s shoulders dutifully, pulling him away to the corner of the fire escape. Jack braced himself, then rammed his elbow into the thin sheet of glass, curses flying out of his mouth as the shards dug in through his sleeve.

“There’s gotta be better ways you could have handled that,” Davey grunted.

Jack ignored him, rubbing a cut on his arm as he crawled through the window. Race and Davey followed after him. Jack had half a mind to go through the drawer, curiosity peaking to know what Morris had been rooting around for, but his priority was to find Crutchie. The rest could come later.

They stayed a good ten feet behind Morris. Jack prayed to whatever god may-or-may-not-be-up-there that he never turned around, making all the way to the bottom floor of the apartment without realizing he had three kids creeping along behind him.

When Jack, Race, and Davey caught up to him, landing on the bottom step of the stairs, Morris had already slipped through a door.

Jack lunged for the door, catching it with his foot just before it could close. Hesitating, he swung it open as quietly as he could.

Crutchie wasn’t in the room, but Jack found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the room as Morris went up to a man that was pacing, rubbing his bald head. He watched as Morris handed the man whatever he’d put in his pocket. The man nodded, clapping his back, and murmured something that Jack strained to hear.

“...boy…”

“...water… last long… death’s door…”

“...wait for him… come eventually…”

Jack didn’t know exactly what they were talking about, but he had a pretty good idea, and he didn’t like where it was going. Carefully, he closed the door, thanking the stars above his head that it didn’t creak.

“So?”

“Crutchie wasn’t in there, but some guy was talkin’ to Delancey. I dunno.” Jack looked around. “Hey, where’s Race?”

“I’m right here.” Race popped his head out from around the corner. “And, uh… I found somethin’.”

That “something” was another door. A heavy metal door in the back of the other room, standing right across from the back entrance to the building. There was something ominous about it, something that made Jack hesitate to swing it open when he had a hold on the polished doorknob.

“We really doin’ this?” Race said. His cigar was hanging from his lips, practically ash in his mouth from how furiously he was grinding on it.

“We don’t got much of a choice, do we?” Rolling his shoulders, Jack barely took a minute to catch his breath before he kicked the door open, the loud band echoing off the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM EIGHTH CHAPTER DONE 
> 
> I'm sorry if the whole "cellar in an apartment building" isn't accurate, but there weren't that many houses in Manhattan in 1899 as far as I know, and this was the best way I could think to do it. 
> 
> Comments, kudos, and feedback are always appreciated! Thanks for reading!


	9. Stay Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Crutchie wants is to be safe in his brothers' arms again. But even when his friends throw the door open, he doesn't get quite all he was hoping for without a not-so-subtle, not-so-small catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: ok so i know it's been a month since i updated but just hear me out here -
> 
> also me: have a new chapter three days after the last one!!

Crutchie’s eyes were slowly slipping shut, his growling stomach and foggy, pounding head luring him back into a tempting sleep, when the door clicked from the outside. It swung open, and his eyes flung open, his jaw tightening with looming dread. He could make out three dark figures, and his hands trembled behind his back.

“Leave me alone,” he said. He licked his lips, wishing for the first time in a while that he had water to satisfy the burn of his dry throat. His hoarse voice made him feel even more powerless than he already was. “Please, just lemme be alone. I-I really don’t —”

The three figures were sprinting at him before he could finish his pleads, and he flinched as they got closer, bracing himself for a swift punch to the jaw. But when the light streaming in through the open door illuminated their faces, he could tell right away it wasn’t the Delancey brothers he was cowering away from.

“Jack?” His eyes flickered between the three. They were panting, disheveled, looking out of place in the dark room he’d grown to know so well in the days he’d been there. “Davey... Race?”

The three of them — he refused to believe it was really his friends standing in front of him — dropped to the floor, and suddenly one of them was throwing themself forward and enveloping him in a hug he desperately wanted to return, if not for the handcuffs keeping him captive. The warm arms that were drowning him in a familiar blue shirt were safe, smelling slightly of old paint and sawdust. Crutchie let out a near-choked sob, burying his face in Jack’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of home.

Jack let go all too soon, but then the second person was dragging Crutchie into an embrace of their own. Cigars. Newspaper print. The murky water down by the docks. _Race._

“Jack, Race.” Race pulled away and the last person leapt at him. Old blankets. Homemade soup. Penny candy. _Davey._ “Ho-how did ya find me? Where am I?”

“Delanceys’ place,” Race said. Davey pried himself away, reaching over to examine the lock on the handcuffs. Crutchie realized just then how much he had missed the sound of a voice that wasn’t snarling at him. “Jackasses didn’t think to just lock ya in the Refuge where we could find ya easier.”

A grin ghosted over Crutchie’s lips as Race ruffled his hair, but it faltered. A douse of cold, hard reality hit him, and Snyder’s threat flooded back to the front of his mind. “Wait! Jackie, you gotta get outta here, it ain’t safe. You gotta just leave me, I ain’t —”

Jack just rubbed his shoulder soothingly as he took Davey’s place in front of the handcuffs, taking a pin from Race and jamming it in the lock. “We ain’t leavin’ here without ya, kid. I don’t care much who’s here and who ain’t.”

“N-no, Jack, you can’t be here!” Crutchie said urgently. “Get outta here. Now. Take Race and Davey with ya, stay safe, I’ll be fine!”

“Crutchie, it’s alright,” Davey said. His fingers ghosted over Crutchie’s bum leg, prodding at the heavy bruises. “We’re gettin’ outta here.”

“No,” Crutchie hissed. “Ya don’t understand. Snyder, he’s got a —”

Another figure stepped into the light, draining it out of the room, and Crutchie’s words flushed away with all the color from his cheeks. He wriggled in the handcuffs, not much caring that it twisted the angry bruises, not daring to say a word. But none of that mattered, in retrospect. He was doing his best to protect his friends, to get them away, to keep them out of the hellhole he’d landed himself in, but there was nothing he could do to stop Snyder as he raised the pistol.

It happened all too quickly. Jack’s eyes widened as he stared at the menacing hole in the barrel of the gun, and he darted in front of Crutchie and pushed Davey to the side, shoving Race behind him just as the click of the trigger went off and a bullet went flying through the air.

Crutchie could hear someone scream. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was Race. He didn’t know. All he knew was that one minute Jack was kneeling in front of him and the next, he was holding his hand to his shoulder and bringing it away coated in blood. He stared at his hand for a minute, and all was silent. Then, he was keeling over and collapsing so suddenly that Crutchie nearly missed his groan of pain before he was out like a light and dead to the world.

Snyder was gone with the pistol before Crutchie could manage to tear his eyes away from his brother. It was probably a good thing, too, since Davey had to catch hold of Race’s shoulders before he could run out of the room after the man that had driven a bullet through Jack’s arm.

“Racetrack!” Davey said sternly. “This isn’t gonna help Jack. Let’s just get outta here. All that you’re gonna do runnin’ after him is get yourself killed.”

It looked like it was taking all of Davey’s strength to heave Jack off the dirty ground, but he still managed to throw him over his shoulder, careful not to jostle his arm, the sleeve already going dark with a gut-wrenching stain. Crutchie couldn’t even find it in himself to protest as the handcuffs around his bruised wrists fell away with the clink of a pin and Race scooped him up with pale, shaking hands. He only had eyes for the blood soaking through Jack’s arm.

“I really don’t think it’s that bad.”

The trek to the Lodging House had taken too long. Crutchie had had his face pressed into Race’s chest the whole way home, breathing in shakily, but finally, Davey had been kicking the door to be let in. Albert had ushered them inside, pausing to kiss a rare, brotherly kiss to Crutchie’s head, a hug out of the question with Crutchie being in Race’s arms and still plastered with ugly bruises.

Now, hearing Davey’s diagnosis, Crutchie craned his neck to look down from the top bunk. Davey was smoothing Jack’s hair off his forehead, his signature grey cap laying abandoned on the floor. “He must have passed out from the pain. The bullet only scraped his arm.” Davey looked at Race, who was clutching Jack’s hand. “Do we have money for a doctor?”

“I-I don’t think so,” Race stammered. His eyes were watering. “The fellas would be willin’ to help out but we just can’t afford much after the strike. Is he gonna be okay without it?”

“I think so. It couldn’t hurt, though. He really just needs stitches and I’m worried he’ll go down with a fever.”

“We can do stitches,” Race said. “Specs had to sew me up after I got caught with a knife down in Brooklyn. It wasn’t that deep and I’ve still got the scar, but you said this wasn’t that deep either. We can —”

“This is from a gun, Race,” Davey said, cutting him off before he could ramble. “This might be a little more serious than a cut. I think it would be better if we had a doctor to do it, but if Specs is really that good… I mean, I’m sure Jack will tough it out either way.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s gotta.”

“We can ask Katherine,” Crutchie said softly. His voice was weak, and he vaguely remembered he needed water, but he wasn’t sure if he could get anything at all to stay down when he was staring at Jack’s limp form. “She’s got money to go around.”

“Her father’s money,” Davey said. “I dunno if she’s allowed to use it. Uh, Race, can you go get Katherine? She’ll want to know he’s home.”

Race nodded numbly. He hesitated before he let go of Jack’s hand, and Crutchie could see him squeeze it lightly before he let it drop and he was out of the room and down the stairs.

"Dave?"

"Hm?"

"Is he... is he really gonna be okay?"

Davey didn't answer, but the silence was all Crutchie needed for his stomach to drop and his heart to beat quicker. “Get some sleep, Crutch,” Davey said distractedly, not even bothering to look at him. “I’ll watch him.”

Crutchie felt like he’d gotten too much sleep in the last week. In fact, he never wanted to sleep again. But he didn’t know what else to do and staring at Jack wasn’t helping the overwhelming thoughts running through his head, so he rolled over, staring at the wall, hoping against hope that Jack’s ragged breaths were still there when he opened his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, yeah, everything will be fine!"
> 
> If you didn't catch on, the thing Oscar was giving Snyder in the last chapter was the bullet. Eyyyy, look at me being all fancy with my foreshadowing. 
> 
> As always, kudos, comments, and feedback are always appreciated! Thanks for reading, babes!


	10. All We Can Do Is Pray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In retrospect, thinking all his problems would be solved as soon as he got out of that dark cellar and was back in bed at the lodging house was stupid of him. Knowing just how "great" his luck was, he should have figured his worries would be far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a longer chapter for y'all! I know this seems kinda all over the place but please bear with me, I'm wrapping things up at this point and there was a lot to cover. Hope you enjoy!

It took another full day for Crutchie to convince Davey to let him out of bed and sit by Jack’s side instead. Sure, he was still aching from rough yellowing bruises that twinged with pain when he did so much as move his jaw, but he’d been gulping water and forcing soup down his throat since the moment he’d gotten back. He would be fine, for Jack’s sake.

The entire lodge dropped by, it seemed. Some clapped Crutchie on the shoulder and offered him a hug, generously ignoring his flinches when he shied away. A few of the younger ones cried, seeing Jack laying so still and silent in his bed, and all Crutchie could do was hold them when he was close to tears himself.

Race stayed by Jack’s side from the moment he came back to the lodge after selling to the moment he had to leave. He clutched Jack’s hand desperately, sometimes leaving both of them white-knuckled in his grip. Whenever Crutchie startled himself awake in a nightmare, he had to admit it was nice to have someone there to follow him out to the fire escape, where they would talk until the sun came up and the morning bell chimed.

“You think he’s ever gonna wake up?”

Crutchie hummed, looking up from the measly meal Davey had thrown together from his mother’s leftovers. He’d only been able to pick at it and stir it around on its plate, his stomach churning. “What?”

“I mean…” Race squirmed, running a hand through his hair. “He ain’t woken up for nearly two full days and it ain’t like we can afford a doctor, especially with the fellas payin’ for you and him to be on bed rest. You think he’s gonna push through? Like Davey said?”

His wide, imploring eyes that told Crutchie he was hoping for a real, truthful answer all on their own made Crutchie feel useless when all he could do was duck his head and sigh. “I don’t know.”

Race was looking at him with a look on his face that Crutchie couldn’t place. “Crutchie, this ain’t your fault.”

Crutchie raised an eyebrow at him. Race must have been getting the wrong idea from his hunched, drawn shoulders and stormy eyes. He hadn’t even thought much about that day Snyder had burst in. It was all one big blur, and all he could honestly remember was the blood on Jack’s hand. But now that he thought about it, and now that Race had mentioned it, it was his fault. Maybe he’d been unknowingly avoiding that thought, but it was true. He was the one that had gotten picked up off the streets, the one that hadn’t been more careful. He was the one that Jack felt the need to go after.

_He was the reason Jack was laying in that bed._

“I don’t think so, Race,” he said. He felt the sudden guilt building up inside him, tearing him apart. “I ain’t got anyone to blame but myself.”

“Crutch, this ain’t your fault.” Race’s tone was harsher and colder. “Me and Al were the ones that snuck out and snooped in on the Delanceys. If anything, it’s probably my fa-”

“No!” Crutchie yelled, grabbing his crutch to push himself out of his chair. He was done. He was done slapping on a smile. He’d been bottling up his tears and hoarse screams for days. If he didn’t let it all out now, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t explode. “Shut up, Race! You don’t know nothin’!” He pointed at the stark-white bandages wrapped tightly around Jack’s arm, already tinged with red. “He jumped in front of me! That should be me! It should’ve been me!”

“He jumped in front of Davey and me too!” Race shouted, jumping to his feet and letting Jack’s limp hand fall back over the edge of the bed. “It could’ve been any of us! But it wasn’t! It was Jack! He wanted to protect us, he damn well did it!”

They must have looked venomous, snarling in each other’s faces like pack animals ready to pounce. It was probably a good thing that firm hands shoved them apart before they took their chance.

“Race! Crutchie!” Davey yanked Race away by his collar. “This ain’t gonna get Jack out of that bed. He wouldn’t want you fightin’. Lay off of each other.”

Crutchie sighed, glaring at his bare feet as he sat back down and Race fell to the floor in defeat, resting his head against the bunk ladder. They sat in tense silence for a few minutes, Davey standing awkwardly between them, until Race grumbled something in Italian and tilted his head to face Crutchie. “I’m sorry, Crutch.”

“It’s fine.” Crutchie let out a humorless chuckle, no real mirth coloring his tone. “Guess we’re both a little tense, huh?”

A flicker of a smile crossed Race’s face. “Yeah. I mean, it’s just... ” he rubbed his eyes tiredly as they wandered back over to Jack. “I nearly lost ya to the Spider. We all did. I don’t wanna lose another brother.” He was still avoiding Crutchie’s eyes. “I love ya, Crutchie.”

Crutchie was surprised. Sure, Race wore his heart on his sleeve, but it wasn’t often he said something so genuine and sincere. Still, blinking away his shock and the angry tears that had pooled up in his eyes, he said, “I love ya too, Race. And don’t worry. You ain’t gonna lose a brother. I’m not goin’ nowhere, and...” He leaned forward, grasping Jack’s free hand that Race wasn’t clutching for dear life. “I don’t think Jack is plannin’ on ditchin’ us just yet.”

“Yeah. I think he knows he’s got too many people that’d miss his stupid jokes and all his dumb Santa Fe talk.”

“Yeah,” Crutchie admitted, “I kinda miss that already. Hey, speakin’ of people that’d miss him, what happened with Katherine?”

“Oh, right,” Race said. “Uh, forgot to tell ya guys, but I told her, and then she said she’d be over soon and said to tell ya she’d hug ya when she got here. Then she just kinda ran outta the apartment.”

“A full day is ‘soon’?”

“Guess so.”

Apparently, “soon” wasn’t even a day. “Soon” was three days, three days of Crutchie sitting by Jack’s bed, silent, wishing his bruises and scars would lay up so he could stagger to his feet and go out to sell. Even standing on the hot streets all day sounded better than his thoughts consuming him, plaguing him with worries he didn’t need.

Crutchie was reading aloud from a dime novel as Race hung his head down from the top bunk, listening to him talk, when the door flew open unexpectedly.

Crutchie jumped about a foot in the air, and Race all but fell from the bed above him. Katherine burst into the room, sliding down to the floor in front of Crutchie. She had a determined, stony look on her face.

“Crutchie Morris,” she deadpanned. “If you ever, and I mean ever, scare me or the boys like that again, I will beat the tar out of you myself. Don’t test me.”

Crutchie was quick to nod and flash a sheepish smile. Satisfied, Katherine took him by the shoulders and swept him up in a hug. The fresh, calming smell of ink and fresh wafted from her clothes and filled Crutchie’s nose. He leaned into the touch contentedly, reminding himself of that fateful day in the cellar. Not that that was anything he wanted to remember.

“As heart-warmin’ as that is...” Crutchie shuffled away from Katherine to see Race smirking down at them, his chin resting on the rail of the bunk bed. “Kath, you got a reason for showin’ up after three days of nothin’?”

“Yes, Mister Higgins, I do,” Katherine huffed, standing and brushing off her skirt. She leaned up, standing on her toes to tousle Race’s hair. “For your information, I was doing more than I remember you doing since these two,” she gestured to Crutchie and Jack, “came home.”

Race rolled his eyes, grinning, and flipped out his cigar, sticking it in his mouth. “So what’s the deal?”

Katherine’s way of responding was to reach in her skirt and produce a neat stack of crisp dollar bills from the depths of her pockets. Race’s mouth dropped open, jaw hanging, and Katherine stepped to the side before his cigar, damp with nervous, agitated teeth marks, could fall on her head.

“Wh-where did ya get all that?” he said, dumbfounded, shakily taking the money from Katherine’s outstretched hand and thumbing through the thin stack — there had to be at least five, maybe even ten dollars in the entire thing.

“Did you forget my father practically runs half this city?” Katherine said. “It wasn’t that difficult to weasel a few bucks out of him.”

“Ace, we can’t take this.” Race shoved the money into Katherine’s chest. “It’s too much. We’re gonna be fine without it. Specs was plannin’ on sewin’ Jack up, we’ve just gotta get over to Miss Medda’s to borrow some stuff. We was kinda runnin’ low on the junk we’ve got crammed in the first-aid kit, that’s the only reason why —”

He was picking up his pace and was starting to outright babble when Katherine cut him off. “Racetrack Higgins. You know why I’m doing this. If you didn’t notice, I’m in a relationship with that boy laying unconscious on the bed, and I happen to be strangely attached to you morons. So,” she held up a finger when Race tried to butt in again, “I don’t much care if I’m using my father’s money. Take it or I’ll track down a doctor myself.”

Race was quiet for a minute, staring at the money she’d stubbornly thrown back in his hands. “Since when’d you get so bossy, Ace?”

“Since I started hanging around a boy with no common sense whatsoever.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“I don’t need to.” Katherine stretched on the tips of her toes again, pressing a kiss to Race’s cheek over the railing of the bunk bed. “There’s more than one.”

True to Katherine’s word, the next few hours were occupied by a kind old man with greying hair and a smile that made the creases under his eyes crinkle. When he came in, he shook Race’s hand and clapped Crutchie on the back heartily.

“How’s it going, boys?” he said. Crutchie shrugged and Race grimaced, and the man chuckled. “Alright, well, I see I have a couple of you to patch up. Let’s make quick work of this, shall we?”

Crutchie’s examination — if you could even call it that — was quick, much to his relief. Katherine, Davey, and Race simultaneously ignored his grumbling and insisted the doctor take a look at his mangled leg, even if the doctor only said that another week of bed rest and extra fluids would do him good.

It was really when the doctor stooped over Jack’s bed that nervous knots tied themselves up tightly in Crutchie’s stomach. He didn’t miss the frown, even if it was only there for a split second, that clouded the doctor’s face. He sat at the foot of Jack’s bed, tapping his fingers against his thigh. The doctor listened to Jack’s heart and pulse, checked his eyes and ears, and unwrapped the bandages Davey had hastily tied over his upper arm. Crutchie did his best not to flinch, but he was sure he didn’t succeed. Jack’s arm didn’t look nearly as bad as it had the first time Davey had unbuttoned his shirt and stripped him clean, but the pale pink flesh, blood trickling from the open wound that had yet to clot, still made him jerk back and force his eyes away.

“You said this was a bullet wound?” the doctor said, flickering his gaze over to Race, who was standing behind him, chewing on his nails. Race nodded. “Do you know what kind of gun it was?”

“It was, uh… it was a pistol.”

“Hm.” Crutchie wasn’t sure if that vague, impassive response was a good thing or a bad thing, but he tried to ignore it.

Keyword “tried.”

The room was so silent Crutchie found himself waiting for a clink of a pair of handcuffs or the door creak he'd gotten so accustomed to hearing whenever a beat of silence was broken. He squirmed on the bed, fiddling with the cuff of Jack’s trousers, until the doctor let out a long, impending sigh and drew his hands away from Jack’s bloody shoulder.

“Well, it really only scraped past his arm.” Crutchie let out a breath of relief he hadn’t realized he was holding in, and just hoped he wasn’t saying his thanks too soon. Davey had reported the same thing the first night he’d come home, but he couldn’t help but feel himself relax all over again. Those words were safety. They were much better than “Jack is slowly dying from the inside out from a bullet that went deep in his arm.” He could say that for sure.

“It should be a few days before he wakes up,” the doctor said, packing his briefcase. “Call me if he doesn’t change at all by next weekend. There’s not much we can do now except pray. Which,” he smiled sympathetically, “I will certainly be doing.”

They all waited until the doctor saw himself out, nodding at each one of them in turn. Even after that, it was quiet for much longer than it took for Crutchie to feel uncomfortable in the thick, sullen atmosphere hanging around the room, left with the doctor’s parting words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katherine is the wine aunt that loves her children
> 
> Also, did you know the term “boyfriend” wasn’t actually used until the 20th century? I do weird research at 2 in the morning.
> 
> Comments, kudos, and feedback are always appreciated! Hope you're enjoying, love ya babes and have a nice day :)


	11. Not a Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katherine's back because I couldn't keep her away for long and I love her so it's fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY WHAT UP I'M NOT DEAD
> 
> So I know it's been a long time since I updated, and I'm sorry to keep y'all waiting, but I had a few other WIPs I was working on and school's been a huge change from summer so far. I'll try to come out with updates more often. Besides, we've only got a few more chapters! So sit back, get some good food, and enjoy!

The days the doctor had prescribed for Jack’s recovery dragged on forever. Crutchie didn’t even feel any satisfaction when Specs finally came in armed with a needle (Katherine had fought to pay for another doctor for the stitches, but Race had drawn the line) to patch up Jack’s glaring wound, only finding more worry to ponder over when the sting of the rubbing alcohol did nothing to help Jack’s deep sleep. The most he’d done was twitch his nose and a few fingers.

Still, he was hoping that the invisible storm raging around him, everyone running from one thing to another, would die down. He just wanted a few days of nothing but flipping through Jack’s sketchbook and reveling in the quiet when the boys were out selling.

No such luck.

When the door flew open one evening, Crutchie could hardly find it in himself to be surprised when Katherine barrelled in, armed with a notebook and that familiar gleam in her eyes.

“Race, Crutchie, meet me outside,” she said, pointing her pencil at the two of them. “We’re stopping to pick Davey up at his apartment. Mike and Ike are coming up to watch Jack.”

Crutchie watched her pace across the room, flipping through her notebook, already half-convinced she’d gone insane. Race seemed to think so too.

“Woah, what the hell, Ace?” he said, getting to his feet and taking her arm.

“I’ll explain on the way,” she said, brushing him off with a light swat with her notebook. “It’s nothing bad, I promise, but we have a few places to visit.”

Race still looked completely concerned for her sanity, but it was obvious nothing was up for debate as Katherine hurried out of the room just as quickly as she’d come in. Race heaved out a sigh, turning to Crutchie.

“If she gets us killed, I’m blamin’ Jack.”

Once Crutchie had an arm secured around Race’s shoulders to stay upright and Mike and Ike were upstairs arguing about one thing or another at Jack’s bedside, they met Katherine outside the Lodging House. There was a carriage parked on the curb and Katherine still had her nose stuck in her notebook. It wasn’t the weirdest thing Crutchie had ever walked in on, but it still raised questions.

“So, uh, Kath, you gettin’ us booted off to jail or somethin’?” Race said, adjusting his hold on Crutchie’s arm as he eyed the carriage warily.

“Not today.” Katherine waved for them to follow her over to the open side door. “Crutchie, I asked Davey a few things and he told me most of what happened, but I need some clarification. Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything.”

As she rambled on, Race slid Crutchie into the carriage, squeezing in beside him to make room for Katherine on the end of the seat. It was a nice change from the uncomfortable wooden chair Crutchie had been sitting in for the last two days, and he leaned back and stretched his leg out as he said, “Yeah. Yeah, um, okay.”

“Snyder had you locked in the cellar of his apartment building?”

Crutchie tensed. Katherine didn’t miss it  — to be fair, she didn’t miss anything — and sent an apologetic look his way. “Oh. That was,” she awkwardly looked down at her notes, “that wasn’t - I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer.”

“No, it’s, uh, it’s okay. Yeah, for a week or two.”

“Okay,” she said, her businesslike tone replaced with something softer. “And Davey, Race and Jack all showed up to bust you out?”

“Yeah.”

“Race, you all followed Oscar, right?”

“Yeah. Ya know, you didn’t have to take us on a carriage ride around the city to give us an interview.”

“And you don’t need to add the commentary,” Katherine said, poking his ribs. “Just suck it up, Higgins.”

And suck it up they did. Katherine rattled on, and once the carriage made a pitstop by Davey’s apartment and they were all crammed in the backseat and the driver started down the street again, Race took it as a sign to keep talking, cutting Katherine off.

“Okay, are you gonna tell us why ya kidnapped us?” he said, leaning back and sticking his cigar in his mouth. “And what’s with the fancy carriage rides? You replacin’ Jackie on these romantic dates?”

“If you would stop talking, I could tell you.” Katherine took a deep breath, smoothed out her dress, and leaned forward to prop her elbows up on her knees. “The cops caught Snyder.”

Race spit out his cigar, leaving him to cough the ashes out of his throat. Davey pounded him on the back, then turned to Katherine, saying, “I didn’t know we had people looking for him.”

“You didn’t,” Katherine said. “I did. When Race told me Crutchie and Jack were back, I asked him some questions and went to see Davey after he left the lodge, and he filled me in on what happened. I went to the police —”

“Glad to finally know what you was doin’ all that time,” Race grumbled, out of harm’s way from choking to death with his cigar tucked in his pocket.

“— and laid out all my notes. I mean, they couldn’t ignore the facts forever. So they asked around the city. Snyder has a lot of friends in a lot of different places, and they found him hiding out in an old apartment by the Brooklyn Bridge.”

She took a deep breath, and her eyes flickered to Crutchie.

“They have him contained, but since he was already released, they want to interrogate the lot of you on what happened to prove he’s guilty. With evidence. Evidence in the place it all happened.”

Crutchie sighed. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he didn’t love the sound of it. “So we’re goin’ to Weasel’s place? Place the guys found me?”

Katherine reached over Race to squeeze his shoulder, but she didn’t say anything. That was all the answer Crutchie needed.

He took a deep breath, tipping his head back to meet the wall of the carriage. He knew he was being ridiculous. Flinching when Katherine asked the simplest of questions, avoiding anything that might trigger a memory of his nights in the cellar, not to mention his days in the Refuge during the strike. He turned to look out the window of the carriage to watch the streets roll by, absorbing himself in his thoughts as his friends fell silent.

_His chest still felt heavy, and sweat trickled from his brow. He shuddered, wishing he was at the Lodging House, where there was always a hug waiting for him after a nightmare._

_A harsh slap to the face had him gasping and jolting awake._

_He coughed, his stomach desperately trying to throw up food that wasn’t there._

_His eyes fluttered open, but they snapped shut again as his bad leg flared up and introduced him to the white-hot, blinding aches that came with it. It was so much worse than usual._

_Someone grabbed his hair, jerking his head back and making him yelp and tense violently in alarm._

_“Gimp is a waste of space, there’s no proof anyone’s really comin’ after him.”_

His chest felt heavy all over again. Tears pricking in the corners of his eyes were welling up and threatening to make their way down his cheeks, but he angrily blinked them away. So many of his friends had had it so much worse than him. He had no right to complain, to cry, to have the nightmares that plagued his thoughts. Hell, he’d had his fair share of waking up to Race screaming himself hoarse since they’d started sleeping near Jack. What made him think he could do the same when he knew Race and Jack and so many others had had worse weeks in the Refuge, or in the Spider’s hands, or somewhere far worse than he’d been?

He could suck up a trip to investigate that cellar. He’d been down there once before, he could do it again. No problem.

The only issue was, after the carriage stopped in front of a building that had to lead to that dark room, it didn’t seem as little of a problem.

For a long time, all he could do was stare at the place as Katherine paid her driver and headed over to a second carriage parked on the curb. The building was run-down and in desperate need of renovation. Chipped paint and smudged glass framed the front, making it look just about as chilling as the Refuge itself.

A hand clapping his arm startled him, and when he turned, he nearly threw his crutch forward. The police officer standing beside him was wearing a kind smile, but the bulky uniform and badge were setting off all the alarms in his head.

“How are you, son?” the cop said. “Your friend over there tells me you’ve had quite the last few weeks.”

Crutchie nodded mutely, watching as the cop cast the usual glance at his bum leg, thumped his shoulder once more, and let him be to talk to two other officers standing by the front door to the apartment building.

“Do ya think Kath invited all of Manhattan?” Race said, taking the cop’s place at Crutchie’s side. He was chewing on his cigar again, so fiercely Crutchie was concerned he would swallow it whole.

“Kinda seems like it, huh?” Crutchie said.

Race elbowed him in the side. “Ya think I could convince the bulls I was the one that beat you and Jack to a pulp?” he said, flexing his arms.

“As soon as I start seein’ some muscle on those noodles you call arms, I’ll get back to ya.”

They threw banter and light insults back and forth. Crutchie knew Race was just trying to cheer him up, but it was working as a distraction for the both of them.

That is, until Katherine was tapping Crutchie on the back of the head and giving them both a light shove towards the building, where a cop was waiting with the door open. Davey put an arm around Race’s shoulders as they went up the steps, and Crutchie could see Race turn around and shoot a wink to Katherine as she stepped back to talk to the officers. He couldn’t see whether Katherine smirked or rolled her eyes, because the doors closed in his face just as they stepped inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter isn't that great, but I really wanted to get something out. I'm also fully aware that this is entirely medically inaccurate, but it's fine because Race is a little shit and Katherine is amazing and the only one with her crap together, as always. 
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments! They make my day and y'all make me smile so much. Love you all, have a good day!

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's making a long-term commitment to a multiple chapter fic?
> 
> Yep! Right here!
> 
> So I'm thinking this will be about 5-10 chapters, updated weekly (give or take a few days). Please let me know how you like it so far, reviews are very much appreciated but not mandatory. Thanks for reading!


End file.
